


Broken's Better Than Dead

by Kieran (Ameenjouee)



Series: Bingo Fills [5]
Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Bingo, Drug Withdrawal, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, but y'know those things are canon for Roy so uh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:35:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21697033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ameenjouee/pseuds/Kieran
Summary: Bingo Fill: Addiction / Withdrawals for Bad Things Happen BingoSometimes, someones beginnings aren't always as picture perfect as it seems. Roy knows that better than anyone.
Relationships: Roy Harper & Oliver Queen
Series: Bingo Fills [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1357522
Kudos: 11





	Broken's Better Than Dead

**Author's Note:**

> Originally, this was written for a group thing - for my friend's rp group, actually, since I was talked into picking Roy up as a character. (We're still accepting people, by the way, let me know if you're interested so I can link you)  
> And then it turned into a whole-day event of me cross referencing his information and listening to songs and writing. This is completely unedited. Consider that your warning.

Roy screwed a lot of things up. He was well aware of that fact, had long since accepted it as just a fact of life for him - if he got something good, he was going to fuck it all up in record time. 

So he’d known immediately when Oliver had taken him in, adopted him as a sidekick and as an adoptive son, that he was bound to fuck it up eventually. 

But the difference is, he’d figured it would be on his terms for a change. 

But no, the asshole front didn’t phase the guy. Him lashing out was answered with lessons and, god forbid, _patience_. The drinking was met with disappointment but it was underlaid by understanding that scared him something awful. 

Eventually, the spiral of bad decisions finally landed on the thing that would be his downfall, and god if it didn’t hurt that it had to be such a low time that finally landed him on his ass in the cold with no one to go to. 

He wasn’t sure how long he sat around dealing with the pain and shakes and _paranoia_ that came from the withdrawals, but he knew that his already frantic breaths spiked in fear briefly when he felt someone wrap something around his shoulders gently. 

For a moment, he thought it was Oliver, but when his eyes found Hal and Dinah instead, he settled for tucking his chin to his chest as another shiver went through him, blocking out the softer words, the concern, the _questions_ just so that he could focus on breathing and riding the waves of pain that came and went, never fully fading as they did so. 

He hadn’t counted for them getting him someplace safe and warm, though. Really, what kind of person did that, sided with some kid they barely knew and likely barely could stand over their friend? 

And he didn’t doubt that Oliver told them what had happened. Their questions had indicated they knew the answers without him speaking, after all, and how else would they know if it wasn’t from Oliver?

Biased information, but information regardless. 

* * *

The next thing he was fully aware of was waking up in the middle of the night and immediately turning to get sick in a bucket that was held up. He didn’t process it until his stomach stopped trying to actively rebel, and as soon as he had, he let tired eyes track up to see Hal sat with his back to him, bucket being set back down beside him as he worked. 

Had they been taking shifts to keep an eye on him? What the _fuck_ was with that?

Even worse was the absent ‘want to talk about it?’ that followed. 

Rather than answer, Roy just scoffed and immediately regretted it when it pulled another coughing fit out of him. 

Right. This had to be some kind of punishment for his entire _existence_ with how much it hurt. 

* * *

The next few days were filled with new faces, people trying to help, and Roy didn’t know how to make heads or tails of it. 

Because honestly, if Oliver had tried to offer him support or help or comfort, it wouldn’t have been like this. 

No one had offered him this kind of help before, not that he remembered. Everyone’d been fine to ignore the alcohol, and now it felt like maybe they’d been waiting for him to break. 

Funny how it worked out like that. 

Hell, once he started talking, he wasn’t even sure who he was talking to. Just that it was someone who was willingly listening to him without cutting him off or judging him or throwing him out to fend for himself in the middle of the hell he’d caused. 

He did remember the quiet that followed his admission that he’d _known_ it was only a matter of time before Oliver gave up on him, that he’d been waiting for it for all that he had hoped that maybe it’d be different this time. 

That he’d hoped it was going to be different this time, and that all the attempts to make someone give up were for nothing, only to be settled in disappointment so thoroughly that he wasn’t sure what hurt worse - the disappointment or the pain from withdrawals. 

He didn’t speak again after that, feeling too raw between the pain it brought him and the next wave of nausea that came from what he’d done to himself. 

He swore, when, _if_ he survived this shit, he’d never touch the stuff again. 

He wouldn’t apologize for what he’d done, because it wouldn’t matter, but he’d get _better_ and find people who could help him when he did inevitably fuck something else up. 

Because at least it was something to hold onto to keep him going when he really, _really_ didn’t want to. 

It had to count for something. Right?


End file.
